Je change comme je rime

Bonsoir, tous ceux qui lit ce blog!
Yesterday, something happened. Something terrible happened. This terrible even is what landed me in the hospital for the evening, nonetheless. Remember the dance-off that my friends were going to have? That took place yesterday, and that started everything. One second I was cheering on Malorie, and the next my world turned pitch black. My head spun, and I literally saw stars. My head hurt, and something stung the inside of my left eye.
I, however, don't remember what happened. Like I said, my memory begins before the accident and picks up with me waking up this afternoon. The incident is merely a black hole. I guess the less I know, the better. I feel great, having slept for twelve straight hours. That was all that mattered to be before the hospital ward of the dorms began letting in visitors for me!

 

Oui. Des visiteurs. I had specifically asked for NO VISITORS. I wanted to recover in peace. Obviously, I would speak to people when I was ready. This afternoon, I definitely wasn't ready...especially for the first set of visitors.

 

"Salut, ma jolie jumelle!" One very familiar voice echoed in my head. It sounded freakishly similar to mine. I panicked for a moment. Was I hearing voices? I better not have been! If I were hearing things, something would have been terribly wrong.
"Bon...however you say it in French!" Another voice entered the picture. This one did not sound similar to mine; the accent was definitely American. It was rather high-pitched, and I knew I heard it before because the same voice bugged me once.
I slowly and groggily sat up, and I opened my eyes. My vision wasn't steady; in fact, things looked a bit blurred! I was startled, especially since I hadn't taken my contacts out...or at least I don't think I did. I tried not to panic, especially since my vision could be acting up since I hadn't opened my eyes for twelve hours.

The similar voice began to speak again. "Des fleurs pour toi, ma sœur! Bon rétablissement!" It paused for a moment. "AH! MON DIEU! Tes yeux! Ils sont pas verts! Tu ne portes pas des lentilles de contact!"

Then, it hit me. My vision may have been acting crazy because of the accident, but it may have been acting weird because my eyes were adjusting to seeing without contacts.

I panicked for a moment, and then I remembered. The memory of the doctor telling me that he was going to have to remove my contacts came back. Apparently, one lens was severely damaged during the accident. It was irritating one of my eyes, so both the lenses were removed.

This whole thing was strange for me. I first arrived in the United States in April of 2008. That is when I first began wearing colored contacts. I had glasses prior to then, but I never wore them. I didn't like the way they looked on me. Yeah, school was a little difficult because of that. It wasn't like I wanted to sit in the front of the class or anything, so I just copied my friends' notes. I began wearing regular, clear contacts...until I came to America, like I said. My friend Ophélie wrote me a good-bye letter, and included in the envelope was a small package containing green colored contacts. She told me that I should try them and that they would give me a fresh start in America. She was right. When I first tried them on, I felt different. I didn't feel like the girl who almost tore apart her family. I liked how unique they were. I somehow convinced my parents (namely my dad) to buy more green colored contacts for me, and they did. They made me feel so beautiful...

My thoughts were soon interrupted by the voice. "Des fleurs! Accepte-les!" 

I then realized whose voice that was. It was Sabine's. That meant that the other voice HAD to be Lilly's. Not exactly what I wanted to wake up to.

Lilly didn't say anything. She plopped down on the floor and began playing with her new, beloved iPad 2. She immediately turned on some music, and I did not know the song that was playing. It was certainly awful, I can say that. It wasn't anything I wanted to listen to.

"What is this crap?" I asked, trying to sound calm instead of abrasive.

"Oh, it's the Dixie Chicks," Lilly responded. 

A confused look lit up my face. "Who are the Pixie Sticks?"

"The DIXIE CHICKS! Get it straight! They are only like the best female country group ever. They were, like, part of my childhood!" Lilly said happily.

"Yeah, well, this song is terrible," I groaned.

"LEAVE THE ROOM!" Lilly said jokingly, though I wasn't in the mood to be teased. "I have other songs on here, in all honesty. I have some Shania Twain, old Britney, and some soundtracks to the old Disney Chanel movies. You know, the ones that were actually good."

I rolled my eyes. "Lilly, you are aware that there is music after 1995, right?"

"I have some present day music, too! I just happen to have the good old stuff, which, just so you know, is mostly late '90s and early 2000s," Lilly informed me.

"Lilly, why don't you leave the room?" I said bitterly. I tried to make it sound like a joke, but it came out harsher than I wanted it to.

In response, Lilly said, "Yeah, you're right. Actually, I'm getting kind-of perturbed. Sabine said this visit wouldn't take very long. I mean, there is one package of Oreos left in the vending machine, and I called dibs! I need to get my butt out there and buy it before somebody else takes what is rightfully mine!"

After Lilly left, Sabine was STILL in my presence and STILL harassing me about those darn flowers that she bought for me. "Il faut que je te donne des fleurs!"

Angrily and unable to control my temper, I shouted. "JE NE LES VEUX PAS! JE M'EN FOUS! Casse-toi, Sabine Aurore Bouchard! Zut alors!"

Sabine frowned. "Bien. Je m'en vais. A tout à l'heure." She walked away and threw the flowers at the bed. 

I felt a bit rotten. What she did was so kind- so thoughtful- and I was acting horrible. This was my main problem. I could not help acting like that. I didn't want to act that way, nor do I intend to. It just happens, whether I want it to or not. I haven't seen my psychologist since I left France. Last month marked my four-year anniversary in the States...and four-year anniversary without seeing my psychologist. I told my parents that I was going to one, but that was a lie. I honestly did mean to look for one, but my first friends in the US, Kira and Nichole, convinced me that I was perfectly fine. Maybe that was true for the first month. Now, I certainly wish I hadn't listen to them. What is it going to take for me to find a new psychologist? Am I really going to have to reach my breaking point again? What if my breaking point was worse this time? The thought of it made me want to cry...if only I could cry. 

I pushed my thoughts into the back of my mind when Chrissa and Malorie entered the room to see me. I still wasn't in the mood for visitors, but I felt that I needed them to tell me what landed me in the hospital ward to begin with. After all, they both were there when things went down. They asked me how I was feeling, and I said better...physically.

"You look gorgeous with brown eyes," Chrissa complimented me. "I can't believe you wanted to hide them with those nasty witch-green contacts! You are a natural beauty without them!"

I don't want to sound vain, but I do agree with Chrissa. She made a good point. Those contacts were unattractive, and I wondered why I was so dependent on them. I was beautiful without them; I didn't need to enhance my appearance.

"Merci, Chrissa," I said weakly.

"Anytime! You took a hard fall, and I was worried. I wanted to make sure you were okay," Chrissa said fearfully.

Chrissa began to sob, so I turned to Malorie. "Mal, what happened? Who won the dance-off?"

Malorie looked nervously at me in return. Her voice quavered. "Sandrine, there was no dance-off. Remember? Ophélie called it off. You really need to stay away from Ophélie, by the way. She's dangerous!"

The room fell silent, and I wanted it to stay that way. I needed to find out what happened to me, to the dance-off. I had a feeling that it would only lead me down a path of trouble...

Bisous,

Sandrine